


In these quiet moments

by curiosa



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Gen, Missing Scene, OT3, but can be read entirely as gen, sort of skysolo, these babies and their problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6387418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiosa/pseuds/curiosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Truth be told, Luke's used to it by now, and it's not just something you drop into the middle of a conversation, is it; oh by the way, I lost my hand, did I tell you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Luke

**Author's Note:**

> So this work of fiction is entirely thanks to two people, [lizznotliz](lizznotliz.tumblr.com) and [culturevulture73](culturevulture73.tumblr.com), as without seeing a certain tumblr post I wouldn't have gone, oh, wait a minute, this.

The shock hits his hand and for a flash of a second fire engulfs every inch of him. “Ah, blast it.”

Han's head is up in a second, watching as Luke shakes out his hand, curling it into a fist and then stretching out each of his fingers; the sensory feedback fading from an angry, sharp buzz of a pain into something that feels just not quite right, a little bit different.

“You alright, Luke?” Han's up and moving, face a picture of concern from what, to anybody without a prosthetic hand, must look like he's just seen Luke get electrocuted.

“Fine, Han.” Luke says, waving away the mother hen part of his friend that Han will deny to anybody exists – that's all Chewie, he'll say to anyone that asks him - and nobody's denying that, but then the Wookie has also definitely rubbed off on him, anyone who's spent a large amount of time with Han can tell you that one. “I've just got to-” Luke strips the layer of artificial skin off, rolling it up and away from the metal. There's a blackened starburst where the shock hit and that'll definitely need, at some point, replacing. It's not the first time Luke's needed it seeing to. He really needs to start being more careful. Still, the hand is moving, no sign of any sparks.

“What the-?” Han’s mouth is an ugly snarl, teeth showing, his eyes dark as he follows the movement of Luke’s hands. “When did you-?” He pauses, breath gathering from the pit of his stomach. “When the hell did this happen, kid?”

Luke breathes slowly and hesitates before he tells him. Truth be told, there’s too much story there, too much background that Luke really doesn’t feel up to telling. He's not told anybody yet, not even Leia. It’s been a long day, but a normal one and maybe for the first time in what, months? Luke hasn’t thought about what happened, what it _means_ for both his future and theirs. Hasn’t felt that shadow encroaching on his back, waiting to creep up and swallow him whole again.

“Bespin.” He says and watches as Han’s face flickers from shock to pain and then right around to anger. “It’s-”

“ _Don’t_ say fine,” Han says, and there’s a tremor there, hidden beneath something that could possibly turn into a fight if they let it. “Because of us?” His hands flicker over the metallic components of his hand, like a tiny bird wanting and waiting to perch. “Me?” Han’s eyes are dark and Luke hates that. There’s a shadow there that’s held him since Bespin and Jabba’s. Han isn’t meant for darkness or anger, he’s meant to be free. This gruff smuggler who pretends he doesn't have a heart and unfortunately for him, but truly fortunate for both Luke and Leia, was in the wrong place at the wrong time on a back end planet.

“Of course not,” Luke says all too easily. “I had to come, you know that, right?” He thinks about the moment back on Dagobah that he saw and felt what could have been, allowing a terrified shudder to pass right through him.

“Sure kid,” Han says and shakes his head, his fingers falling on the cool metal of Luke’s fingers. “You should have run.” He says, his voice clear but softly spoken.

His hand traces the fine wiring and circuitry and Luke can feel every movement, each tiny amount of pressure Han places on the joints. It’s been tingling since the shock, the wiring that allows him to still feel as if the metal was his own flesh and skin hand, bouncing feedback to every single one of his nerves, almost like raw energy fizzing through his skin. He doesn’t feel it now though, a quiet numbness as Han follows every curve and bump of his hand, as if he’s committing this new part of Luke to his memory for good.

“I couldn’t do that.” Luke says as Han finishes were the metal ends and his own skin and flesh carries on. His fingers, rough and callused from endless work on the falcon, softly circling the raw and tender edge of Luke’s own skin.

“Does it hurt?” Han asks him, eyes wide and open.

There’s usually a throb, something, the medics said, that will fade away with time or he’ll learn to ignore and block out completely; but Han’s contact makes it all lessen and something like anxiety, pain and fear flows away from Luke all too easily with just his touch.

“I couldn’t run,” Luke repeats and Han’s eyes, when he looks at him, are just that touch of a shade or two lighter.

It doesn't change Han from thinking that he's right, or knowing that he's missing something. His eyes narrow on Luke as he asks the inevitable, “And?”

“And?” Luke repeats, Han's hand still wrapped around his wrist tightly. He tries for a smile and knows from the way that Han's looking at him that he's failed completely. “And nothing.”

There's a clank and an angry growl and then what sounds like some really colourful cursing. Han blinks, distracted, and Luke uses the distraction to take his hand back, roughly shoving the skin back on to the metal, after all it'll still need seeing to later.

“You okay, Chewie?” Han bellows, followed by Chewbacca and what sounds like some soft whimpering. Han rolls his eyes. “Can't leave the two of you alone for a second.” He turns back to Luke, “You sure you're okay, kid?” His eyes flicker back to the hand and then leave it lightning fast, like watching the prosthetic physically burns him. Luke's seen that same look so often before from Leia; apprehension and a touch of dislike, the seeds of guilt taking root to blossom and grow from the inside.

“Fine, Han, honestly.” He resists the reflex to wriggle his fingers, knows that it would probably make Han squirm. “It'll just need a little bit of fixing. It could have been a lot worse.”

Han sniffs, pinning him down with a look that says he's probably still taking this personally.

Chewbacca groans again and Han's mouth slides into an angry shout, “Alright, alright, I'm coming.” He throws out a hand, finger pointing straight at Luke. “And if you're delusional enough to think this is over.”

There's a promise there, Luke thinks. His arm already growing cold from where Han's hand has left it.

 


	2. Leia

Leia's got what's promising to be a storm of a headache brewing as she stares vacantly at the pile of reports waiting to be read and processed, and that's before Han Solo bursts into her room, shoulders back, lines across his forehead and body full of pointy and lethally sharp edges.

“I can't believe that none of you told me.” He snaps out, teeth clicking together with barely concealed rage that has Leia shrinking back against her seat, truly, honestly frightened. “Not one of you thought to fill me in.”

“Han?”

“Not one of you,” he repeats, pacing, his hands shaking.

“Han!” Leia bites back, throwing a look at the still open doorway which people are beginning to poke their heads around, throwing the pair of them concerned and questioning looks. Leia shakes her head at the enquiries, she can handle Han Solo herself, even when he's being a son of a bantha. Standing up and closing the door behind her before she invites Han to take her vacated seat, which he throws himself into, slumping down with his head in his hands, all of the fight in him gone, just like that.

“Are you going to tell me-”

“Bespin.” Han says, so softly that Leia has to lean in to hear him.

“Bespin?” She repeats, tasting the word as it comes sour out of her mouth. As her head fills with freezing cold wisps of smoke, the taste of fear lingering like an ache in the back of her teeth, the smell of blood and burnt flesh and _oh_.

“Luke,” she says and Han nods at her wordlessly.

“Why didn't one of you tell me?”

“It wasn't really my place,” she says as Han's head shoots up whip smart fast, mouth curled into a snarl of anger.

“Wasn't your place?” He bites back at her. “You and me and Luke, after all that we've been through together?”

“And after all that you'd been through?”

Han waves the thought away, which no, she's not letting him get away with that one. The men in her life are all just as bad as each other. “You were _frozen_ , Han.”

He pats down every inch of his body. “And still whole and intact and 100% healthy.”

Leia raises an eyebrow, highly doubtful of that fact. She's seen him trembling sometimes, a shake to his fingers that doesn't stop until Leia or Luke wraps his hand tight against their own. How sometimes he'll wrap himself up in an extra layer as if the carbonite is still there, freezing in his bones.

“And what about you?”He counters, “Are you alright?”

Leia thinks about the dreams she has at night. Surrounded in darkness as the people she cares about get pulled out of her grasp, the sound of heavy, dark filtrated breathing ringing in her ears like an echo, like a promise, like a call. How sometimes its the desert sand rubbing raw against her skin as strange and unknown appendages reach out and paw at her body as if it's no longer her own. The smell of burning spices and unwashed skin surrounding her heavy, filling up her nose and her mouth until she can't breathe.

“I'm fine, Han.” She says, a shake to her voice that they both pretend doesn't happen. “Luke, Chewie and Lando all saw to it that I got out.”

“Barely,” he huffs, soft.

“Well we rescued you, didn't we?” She replies, ruffled as Han grins at her and she relaxes, smiling, knowing exactly what he's trying to do.

He reaches out for her then, taking a hold of her arm, his gaze pinning her down, warm and solid. “You sure?” His hand curls into her own, flexing and folding against her fingers. “You haven't got a bionic knee in there that the two of you neglected to mention?” She taps her knee as Han pulls her against his chest and sighs over the top of her head. “We're a mess, huh?”

Leia leans back to look at him. “What exactly did Luke tell you?”

Han rolls his eyes. “Luke? Practically nothing. Chewie got in a fuss about somethin' and nothin' and by the time I'd dealt with the big fur ball, Luke had done one of his vanishin' acts on me.”

“Vader did it to him.” She says quietly, sensing a chill cool the room.

Leia feels Han tense beneath her. “How did he, did you?” His mouth flaps open and in any other situation it might be funny.

“I don't know.” She admits, closing her eyes once more against that shooting pain of a headache. At the time, she'd been too grateful, too busy thanking her lucky stars that she'd been right, that Luke was relatively safe, still breathing.

“He's not right, Leia.”

“I know,” she admits, tucking her chin against her chest.

There was something different about him. Something different about all of them, war tended to do that to even the best of people; turn them inside out, but Luke was still holding back _something_ , keeping secrets from her that felt just on the tip of her tongue. Leia had tried needling it out of him those first few nights in hiding. Watching him wake up in pain, his face creasing through the worst of it as the pain meds they kept aboard the falcon wore down and ran out. Trying desperately to get Luke to talk to her in the middle of the night when he woke up from his fevered nightmares, her hand cradling his left whilst her other smoothed back his hair; telling him that everything would be alright, singing old Alderaanian lullabies that she'd not thought about in forever, the kind that her Father had used once upon a time to sing her to sleep.

“He won't talk to me. I figured maybe he needed time, but...” Surely by now he'd have opened up to her? Or Han? At least one of them. “Something happened between him and Vader. I've never seen him so scared.” She'd been trembling herself after, a cold that had seeped in and taken hold, numbing her from the inside through to her bones.

“We'll fix it,” Han reassures her, voice calm and steady.

“Will we?” Leia isn't sure if she's asking about Luke, herself, Han or the war. She's tired, she knows that much, sick of running and fleeing and being so damn scared.

“All of it,” Han says, “we'll fix all of it.” His words, Leia thinks, almost like a promise.

 


End file.
